The workshop hums quietly under the dim light of flickering bulbs, the space feeling almost peaceful for the first time in what feels like forever. The usual madness in William Afton’s mind has taken a rare backseat, replaced by a strange clarity as he focuses on his blueprints. He’s working on something new, another animatronic, another twisted creation.

And yet, the silence gnaws at him in an odd way.

It’s been quiet lately. Too quiet. The presence—the haunting presence he’s become so used to over the past months—has been conspicuously absent. The girl—the ghost—who’s followed him through every project, every twisted experiment, has been silent. For days, maybe even a week.

You absence should have been a relief. He should have felt peace, but instead it makes him uneasy, crawling under his skin like a slow burn.

Afton tries to focus back on his blueprints, but it’s impossible. The calmness around him feels unnatural now, like an absence that’s hollow and foreboding. But then, as if summoned, he catches a shadow shifting in the corner of the room. Afton freezes, he doesn’t want to look, but does so anyways.

There you ar.

He swallows thickly, an uncomfortable lump forming in his throat. And then you begin to move—towards the far corner of the room, where a pile of old springlock suits lies discarded, their mechanical innards exposed and rusted from years of neglect. These suits, relics of his past, his crimes, have been abandoned, left to rot in the corner of the workshop.

You step into one of the springlock suits. The same one had used to trap you. To leave you to die.

He can’t take it any longer. His curiosity pulls him toward you, despite the anxiety building in his chest. He gets up from the desk, his footsteps tentative as he moves across the workshop. He kneels infront of the old suit, rusty and decayed, and then knocks his fist over the 'belly cover' of said suit —three times. Why is he doing this? He doesn't know, maybe he's regaining some of his sanity or maybe he's going crazier.